beauty in the water, angel on the beach, ocean's daughter
by safeandsound13
Summary: As if his life wasn't difficult enough, his fifteen year old sister suddenly develops a tail whenever she touches water. Yeah. What the hell. He's gonna need help with this, and just his luck that there's a mermaid squad in town. He may or may not have this weird kind of crush on their leader, but really. His sister has a tail. He has other shit to worry about. / Mermaid AU


**A/N: based on the prompt: Person a's sister/brother turns into a mystical creature overnight and they need person b's help to survive with this gift. That I got from tumblr, but I lost the source so if anyone knows it, hit me up.**

 **so... this kind of feels like some sort of crack one shot, but i enjoyed writing it even though it offically took me over a year to complete it. i rewrote so much of this that in the end i was just like, let the internet decide if they like it or not, i'm Done. i hope this is in character, sometimes it's really hard to apply their situation/history in canon to an AU verse so yolo.**

 **again im not a native english speaker so...bare w me.**

 **hope y'all like it at least3**

 **song in the title is mermaid from train (horrible song but the lyrics fit), and the song in the fic is collide by rachel platten (LISTEN TO HER ALBUM WAVES IM GONE)**

.

 _turn the lights on, honey, i don't really wanna hide, not tonight_

 _come and crash into me 'cause i want us to collide_

.

Call him naive, but when his sister awoke him from his power nap after his double shift at the library—by screeching his name so loudly the heart attack he was having from the pure shock _had a heart attack_ —to expect her, well. Like _that_.

"O?" He questions, halting in the doorway. It's pouring. He doesn't like getting wet, especially not if it's for some shitty reason. And for now, looking at the grey world outside through his screen door, he can't really detect any non-shitty reasons. "What are you doing outside in the rain?"

He's half expecting her to explain she found a slug she wants to save from drowning, half that she found someone lurking near their backyard and decided to kick their ass. Either one.

He can't really see her, just makes out a half-assed cynical, "Because I can't walk, dumbass."

Rolling his eyes, he takes the closest thing he can find that will hopefully shield him from some of the cold water—which happens to be a newspaper, which happens to not be practical at all, but will have to do—and holds it above his head. With a final, world-weary and defeated sigh he opens the screen door leading outside. "Did you break someth—"

He wishes it was just a slug. Or an unconscious stranger on his barely kept field of grass. Either one really.

It would be so much more explainable then—is that a _tail_? When he manages to look away from the giant fin (what the fuck) that is where her legs are supposed to be (what the fuck?), he finds his little sister offering him a half-shrug, smiling painfully as she awkwardly shields her chest from him.

"At least it's green? It's way more classy than like, pink. And it matches my eyes."

He discards the paper on the grass somewhere by throwing it over his shoulder carelessly, sinking down on his knees next to her. Opening his mouth and stammering a little, but nothing really makes sense any more.

"I think it's the water," she explains, brushing some of her wet hair from her face. "I was fine at school, before, and then it started raining and I suddenly couldn't walk and I was like _what the fuck_ , you know."

"I know," he breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose, wide eyes directed at her supposed-to-be legs, still trying to keep the last of his sanity together. Why couldn't it have been an unconscious stranger?

"Are you going to carry me inside, or are you going to photograph me and ask you loser friends on Reddit how to proceed?" She's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, uncomfortably shifting her position. This is new for her, too. She must be freaking out.

"You know I don't go on Reddit to make friends, I go on there to educate history haters," he answers absentmindedly as he wipes a few drops of water from his nose. He stares at Octavia's… tail, trying to push aside the memory of her first steps when she was a tiny, teeny toddler. He feels like her friend Jasper could come out with a camera any second now, and he'd be glad, for once, to be the butt of one of their practical jokes.

"Bell," she urges, this time more serious, any sliver of amusement gone as she nods towards their house. _Right_.

It's the middle of the day, and they're in their yard in broad daylight. Someone could see, and like, try and burn her on the stake? He doesn't know if people still do that, or if she actually qualifies as a witch, but more than anything—he'd like his sister to be her regular, non-burnt self for a little while longer.

He picks her up, almost drops her—because the scales on her tail are cold, and so is she, and he thinks he might be losing his damn mind—but manages to hold on long enough to carry her inside their small house.

He puts her on the couch carefully, and gets out a year supply of towels as Octavia starts drying herself off. With the way he's pacing their living room, and the roughness in her movements—it's obvious how badly they're hoping the process is reversible.

After a few moments, she glows or glitters, or whatever, and suddenly her legs are back. And her clothes. He has to bang his head against the wall a few times, before he's sure he isn't dreaming. It kind of seems to defy any law of science, but he never really cared for science in so he's not going to bet his life on it. He sinks down on the chair next to her, taking his head in his hands.

The usual way he deals with problems involves a lot of drinking and drowning out the voices in his head with bad pop music, but he kind of feels like this is one of those problems that he can't ignore until they go away.

He has a million and one questions, but the one that's really screaming for him to say out loud, is, " _How_?"

She shrugs, barely noticeable, uncharacteristically quiet. Unconsciously, it makes him narrow his eyes.

"O?" He demands, this time more firm as he crosses his arms over his chest.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Shit. I don't know." She's obviously avoiding eye-contact at this point, which does her no favors. His mind is already running over with the Worst Possibilities ever. Scientifically modified drugs? Magic STD?

"Atom, he took me to this spot, by that hotel, Trident, you know by the beach? It's near a volcano or something, and there was a hot tub and. _I don't know_." She shakes her head, squinting her eyes like she has to try really hard to remember. "It started storming, and he ran off like a pussy, leaving me to collect our clothes and just as I was about to get out—there was this strike of lightning, and..."

"And _what_?" He presses, because now really wasn't time for suspense.

"Nothing," she answers, quickly, sending him some sort of apologetic look. "I just remember waking up in my bed this morning."

"So," he concludes, narrowing his eyes at her, "You told me you were studying at Jasper's, while you were actually trespassing private property with that low-life Atom on a school night?"

She scrambles up from the couch, still a little wobbly on her legs, but in all other regards, exactly like herself. "Fuck you, Bell."

"You just told me you turned out like— _this_! Because you lied to me, and now, now _what_? I have to figure out how to fix it. So you can hate me all you want," he pauses, clenching his jaw as he runs a hand through his curls. It's just him. He and Octavia. No one else. He swallow tightly. He has this problem in which he gets _way_ too emotional at once because the rest of the time he's trying to hold it in. "But, for now, I don't know what the hell is going on with you and it scares the living shit out of me."

"I'm _sorry_ , okay Bell," she snaps, but her voice breaks on his name, eyes shiny with tears. It takes him a moment to remember that for all the time she pretends she's so independent and not a little kid anymore, she's still just his sixteen years old little sister. And his responsibility.

He gets up on his feet, too, wrapping his arms around her freezing, small frame, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll figure it out, I promise."

For all intents and purposes, Octavia was grounded for lying. Not for turning into a mythical creature, because that's not her fault entirely so it would be a shitty thing to do. But since he wasn't, and he quotes, ' _her damn father_ ', and Octavia had a brown belt in karate, she wasn't _actually_ grounded.

She was just a—half fish, half human. His life was now an episode of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Channel. Cool.

Once he's abused a proper amount of alcohol, listened to Side to Side a few thousand times and slept on it for a horrible four and half hours, he builds up the courage to start _the_ conversation. The one must have with their sibling once they turned into something non-human.

"O, maybe I could find a scientist or something?" He starts—casually even though he's dying on the inside—as soon as she skips down the stairs, backpack slung over her shoulder while she's already inhaling the sugary cereal he prepared for her like it's her last meal. She skipped the shower this morning, just to be sure. "Someone who knows about this shit, you know. An expert on fish or the supernatural, fuck. I don't know. _Someone_."

Turns out he's bad at it, like at least ninety percent of the rest of what's going on in his life.

"Bell, honestly?" She looks at her cereal first, like she's sorry she has to pause eating it to school his ass, then at him, eyebrows raised. He nods, like it wasn't actually rhetorical. "I don't want anyone's help, I'm fine. What's the worst that could happen? I don't remember watching any horror movies about mermaids, you know why? Because they're harmless."

She's fucking independent, man. She thinks she knows _everything_. It's his own damn fault for raising her to be.

"You don't _know_ that for sure," he tries, because she could be right, and that'd be swell, but she also could be wrong and he'll end up having to save her from some secret government agency that wants to torture and experiment on her For Science. "Plus, didn't that mermaid in Pirates of the Caribbean _eat_ her boyfriend?"

She scoops the last remaining bit of her cereal in her mouth, and while chewing informs him that, "I promise that as soon as I get the urge to consume a human being, you'll be the first to know, okay? And we can go from there."

Then, she hops off her stool, pressing a quick sloppy kiss to his cheek and disappears out of the door before he has time to tell not to get into any trouble. Like, for example, just from the top of his head, turn into a mystical creature.

Technically, that's all true. And technically, in not so much words, he tells her he'll leave it alone. But, technically, his sister is a fucking mermaid. A mermaid he _technically_ didn't promise anything. All technicalities aside, he's the adult here, her legal guardian even. He can do whatever the hell he wants.

.

His first genius instinct is to Google it—the Bella Swan way. It worked out fine for her in those Twilight movies he used to ironically watch with Octavia, so why should this be any different?

Once ' _mermaids in Arkadia_ ' lands him on some comic con site for mermaid lovers and his next try only brings him to some porn site he's definitely visited before, he figures it's because his life isn't a damn movie.

The library is up next, because that's what Buffy Summers would do. Which should have been his first go-to, really. He knows Buffy Summers is better than Bella Swan in every conceivable way like he knows the back of his hand.

He works there part-time anyway, when he doesn't have history and criminology classes to take, so spending five days with his nose in various books about marine life and mythology isn't too much of a hassle. He actually enjoys reading about most of it, until he lands on the final book and realizes he's not really getting anywhere.

After this, he realizes he's relying too much on pop culture ideologies and is investing way too much time and energy in them. He's out of options.

It's by sheer luck, really, that, three weeks later, he stumbles onto her.

His best friend Miller asked him to catch some waves after classes, and he reluctantly agreed. He's still actively figuring out how to approach one of the science teachers at his college about Octavia's problem, preferably without coming across as a complete lunatic, but some distraction would be nice.

(The other day, Octavia knocked over his glass of water and then mopped it up without lifting a finger. She just— _moved_ the water back into the glass by hovering her hand above it. He knows his sister and she might use these powers for evil when she gets the chance.)

He's watching Miller look cool and unbothered even while falling flat on his face into the water when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a girl wobble forward on the pier. She looks like she's in pain or even injured, before she gets over the ledge and drops herself into the water, completely clothed. The worst part is, she doesn't resurface.

He quickly hops onto his feet, sprinting down the sand where the pier starts, and gets waist deep into the water, up until where he thinks she went in. He doesn't see her at first, just sees the water move wildly, waves splashing against his chest.

Then, he spots a dark blob of hair dipping out just above the water before going back down and without thinking, he dives after it, before hauling her—kicking and screaming and _ice cold_ —onto the shore right where it meets the water but he's sure enough she won't be able to just jump in again.

His eyes widen as he takes her in. A few weeks ago, he'd never encountered one before in his life, and now he's seen two, without even actively trying.

"Dude, what the hell?" She spits, wiping sand off the side of her face as she glares at him. Suddenly, like she's now just realizing she's sporting a tail—like Octavia, but one side of her tail has darker scales, a few patches without them even, one of her fins a little kinked, plus her's _purple_ —she freezes. "Shit."

"I thought, I thought you were drowning," he pants, unzipping his wetsuit so it doesn't constrict all the air in his lungs. At least, that's what it feels like right now. "That you…"

She mumbles something to herself, rolling her eyes as she leans back on her hands. "What? That I wanted to kill myself because I'm a," she air quotes with one hand, "cripple?"

That's how he meets Raven. Totally cool and smart badass mechanic Raven, who is, coincidentally, part of some Arkadia mermaid squad.

She doesn't tell him as much the first time they meet, just tells him to forget what he saw before diving back into the sea. It all happens so quickly, he barely has time to ask for help. He needs help, lots and lots of help.

After a while Miller asks him why he disappeared all of a sudden to stare out at the sea like some emo asshole and they go back to his house for some beers. He decides not to dwell on it too much. There's a ninety percent chance he just imagined her because he's that _lost_ , like some sort of fucked up coping mechanism. If he didn't imagine her out of thin air, he probably offended her so deeply that she probably doesn't want anything to do with him, anyway.

Three days later, in between classes—when, on a rare occasion, he's actually at the library to study himself instead of trying to earn some extra cash—she's there at one of the tables. He doesn't know if he's seen her here before, and she's actually a student and this is just one of those Baader-Meinhof phenomenons where you suddenly start noticing something everywhere after stumbling onto the obscure thing, or if this is magic and everything's he's ever known is fake and she moved schools just to fuck with him.

All he knows is that he didn't imagine her, and she definitely had a tail after she went into the water and he really, really desperately needs help. He _cannot_ press this enough.

(Octavia's friend Jasper almost got expelled the other day for _being compelled_ to go into the girls' locker room just because he heard Octavia sing a Katy Perry song. He's sorry to say he's heard her sing before. It's off tune and she never knows any of the lyrics and he'd rather die, but Jasper was _compelled_ to walk into a room full of undressing teenage girls even though he's a fully functioning human being.)

He needs answers, before anyone gets hurt.

He sits down across from her and asks her something, and it isn't until he's waving and saying hello in a voice that's _way_ too loud for a library (he'd know, because he works there and he hates shushing people), that she pulls out her earbuds and looks at him expectantly. She's pretty; tan skin, her long hair pulled back in a shiny ponytail, really nice teeth. Looks like she wants to beat him up with one of her large textbooks.

"I," he starts, but he doesn't really know how to go from there. Just blinks at her a few times. He's usually smoother than this. He's also never really been the person to ask for help. He _aggressively_ did everything on his own and by himself and without anyone's help. He learned the hard way that it was better that way.

She squints at him, then lights up a little, smirking the tiniest bit. "Oh, surfer dude, right?" She doesn't seem to care they're in a library, at all.

He sends Monty, who's on shift, an apologetic look, then turns back to her, pointedly lowering his voice. "I saw." He wants to say more, but instead decides on eyeing her lower body through the table.

"You saw what?" She cocks an eyebrow, tapping the end of her pencil against her notebook repeatedly. There's a lot of numbers and equations written down it.

"Your tail," he hisses, low, because he didn't realize they were going to have to do this whole clueless thing. "I _saw_ it."

"Oh, that," she answers absentmindedly, like it's just a regular thing, going back to writing stuff down on the paper in front of her. "It's a monofin. It's a thing people do in their spare time. Weird people, but still. It's like cosplay or something. Look it up." With that, she puts her earbuds back in and he's left to stare at her like creepy stalker.

He yanks on the white material, starting to get a little pissed off here. He's so overwhelmed with everything and a little angry that it happened, too and she's genuinely the only person in the world who can help him out and he needs this. He has to be sure his little sister is one-hundred percent okay. He never wanted to be the asshole that snatches people's earbuds out of their ears, but if that's the person her has to be to keep Octavia safe, so be it.

She sends him a heated look, opening her mouth to, assumably, yell when he quickly interjects. "My little sister, her name is Octavia. She—she turned, too. I don't know what to do and I don't like admitting this, but I need your help."

Monty looks up at them from his Manga comicbook, conflicted, but luckily decides against scolding them. For now. Not that he cares, he has way more important shit to worry about then keeping his voice down.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair as she rubs her forehead. "Look, dude, I'm sorry, but fuck no. I can't take on training a baby 'maid when I have like three thesis' to complete in two months if I ever want to graduate."

He stares at her, dumbfounded. He knew people were selfish beings and he'd never been under the assumption they weren't, but this was just—a whole new level of egotistical. "So what? We're just going to have to figure this out by ourselves?"

"I didn't say that," she retorts, but she looks a little like she's bored. Then, she stretches, and she's definitely bored. "This sounds like just the job for Clarke."

"Clark?" He echoes, because the last thing he needs is for his little sister to swim off with a merman to the Arctic Ocean before even graduating high school.

"Just meet me outside the dining hall at four p.m., I was going over there anyway and you look like it might be urgent."

He scoffs, humorlessly, and she adds, severely unimpressed, "Seriously, man. You look like you might shit your pants any second now. Chill a little."

.

He skips two classes to meet her, and she just pads over to him at 5:15 like she is just now remembering their little secret mythical rendez-vous.

"Right, Surfer Dude," she states, as she points a thumb at him from where she's holding onto the straps of her backpack, looking incredibly inconvenienced. " _Marine_ business."

She starts walking and he has to jog a little to catch up with her. He can see she's wearing a brace, now, but it's not like she lets it hold her back.

"My name isn't Surfer Dude, by the way—"

"You don't say," she muses, as they walk off the quad and start heading towards the beach. Please don't let their secret hide-out be in the sea. He loves his sister, but swallowing like fish eggs or seaweed to be able to breathe underwater? Nah. This isn't Harry Potter.

"It's Bellamy," he smirks, smug, because he isn't going to let her attitude bother him and he knows girls like it when he does so. He wouldn't mind melting her ice-cold facade down a little.

"Raven," she returns, completely unfazed by his charms. "I would say it's nice to meet you, but it's usually more a burden than a gift to become what we are."

Her voice is cool like always, but there's something about the way she says the word 'burden' that has him biting down on the inside of his cheek, doubtful. Finally, he just gets it over with. "Ignore me if I'm being an insensitive ass but, what happened to your leg?"

"Ursula fucked up my spell," she smirks at him over her shoulder, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. They're close now, to the sea.

He sarcastically hums in response, and they mostly walk in silence until they reach a beach hut, a few feet away from their local aquarium. The hut is actually halfway in the water, so you'd immediately be able to jump in, the dock attached to it leading to the deeper parts of the ocean. Which, makes a lot of sense.

" _Welcome_. I don't know if you were expecting a life sized shell in the ocean or whatever but you look disappointed."

"No, it's not that," he answers, looking the hut up and down. He just feels like he should've noticed. It's just there. In plain sight. There's even a fucking mermaid painted on the front door. The sign above it reads 'Is King Alexander alive?', and he's pretty sure that's from the legend of Thessalonike—Alexander's the Great sister who turned into a mermaid—and he loves Roman and Greek mythology so he's actually one-hundred percent sure. "It's just… not subtle. At all."

Next time a loved one turns into a mythical creature, he's just going to start knocking on doors that look like a mythical creature would live there. 10/10 chance he'll end up right where he has to.

She snorts cynically and starts moving up the stairs to the front door, helping her braced leg up the steps, and half motions for him to follow her. "Yeah, Clarke painted that. She's _big_ on being subtle."

"He lives and reigns and conquers the world," he murmurs to himself as she opens the door, stopping in front of the threshold. It looks fairly normal inside, like one big living room with a small basic kitchenette, but he also knows legend has it mermaids eat men and he's not ready to die.

"What?" She asks impatiently—not even trying to hide the fact she's weirded out by him muttering shit under his breath—sending him a confused look as she watches him from the other side of the threshold.

He repeats himself, running a hand over his thick curls, then explains, "It's what she wanted to hear from sailors. The mermaid, from the legend. When they answered correctly, she'd calm the waters and bid the ship farewell."

Finally, he steps inside. He figures Octavia's health and happiness is worth the risk. She owes him like, at least five years of doing the dishes for this, though.

"God, you're a nerd," she mutters under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she walks away from him, throwing her backpack down on the couch. It's big and fluffy and brightly coloured and shaped like a shell, which is… meta as fuck.

Her ponytail sways into his face, and he's about to make a snarky remark about it when another woman appears from the back door, closing his mouth quickly.

She's cute, wild wavy blonde hair and curvy and blue narrowed eyes, beauty mark above her lip. She looks like she's about to kick somebody's ass, arms crossed over her chest. Hopefully not his, because she'd probably win.

"Who's this?" She doesn't even spare him a second glance, eyes fixated on something, or someone else.

"Oh right," Raven answers, voice sounding distorted since her head is stuck in their mini-fridge. He completely missed her moving to the other side of the room, he realizes, when's he able to tear his eyes away from the other woman. "I should've texted you."

She gets back onto her feet, popping open a can of coke and taking a swig. She motions one hand around carelessly as she speaks. "This is Bellamy. His sister turned into one of us, or whatever. He needs help."

She splutters something incomprehensible in response, inhaling sharply. Then, like some diplomatic genius, forces a smile on her face. It irks him a little, the wall she immediately puts up, like she's some elitist wonder just for being able to fake politeness.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm Clarke. May I ask how your sister 'turned', as Raven put it?"

"Does it matter? She grew a tail when it rained," he responds, dryly, "It had scales. And it was cold."

"It's against the rules to turn in front of a human," she comments, heated as she slams the door shut behind her.

"Well, shit, Clarke," Raven whistles, setting up her laptop on the coffee table—the side of it lined with what looks like real shells—plopping down on the couch. "It's not like she knew she couldn't reveal her powers to humans. He already knows now, so," she declares, shrugging lazily as she downs the last of her drink.

"I'm her _brother_ ," he clarifies, like that's supposed to mean something, eyes turning into slits. He takes it back. She's not that cute.

"The rules apply to _all_ humans," she explains, seriously, like this is actually just who she is. Someone who genuinely believes in a fucked up system. She's his _little sister_. What was she supposed to do? Lie to him for the rest of their lives? When he's finally able to stop blinking rapidly in anger, he realizes she's pointedly looking over at him. "Even family members."

"Well, fuck the rules," he spits back. He was never one for rules—who the hell was going to tell him how to live his life?—and made damn sure everybody knew it.

"F-fuck the rules?" Her eyes widen and she looks like she's about to have an actual stroke, padding closer to him, skin turning a splotchy red all over. "If we'd do that, our kind would go extinct within a year. It's what humans do. They destroy." She grits her teeth together, eyes going distant like she's imagining all of humanity's Crimes Against Mermaids. He can't name a single one. "Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."

He sends her a funny look and she must mistake it for confusion because she elaborates, "Oppenheimer. He was—"

"I know who Oppenheimer is," he retaliates coldly because her superior attitude is really reaching a level of annoyance inside of him that he didn't think was possible. "Although I don't see what a theoretical physicist has to do with any of this."

"A whole lotta humans died, is my point," she snarls, nails digging into he palms. "You humans did that to yourself. Imagine what you'd do to us."

"Don't mind Clarke," Raven butts in like she thinks this is all a joke. "She was born a siren so sometimes it's hard for her to empathize with the Chosen and remember her human half."

The Chosen. Like Octavia should be lucky that her life changed forever.

"Jesus Christ. How many of you are out there?" He frowns, jumping up a little at yet another person entering the little shabby hut from behind him, the door falling shut with a loud clapping noise.

This one is a dude, though, he realizes as he enters into his view. A good-looking dude, because that apparently comes with the job. He's dark skinned, well-built with broad shoulders and bright ebony eyes.

"This is Bellamy. Bellamy's sister turned," Raven informs him and he looks _ecstatic_ at the news, reaching out to shake his hand. "Cool. The more the merrier."

Bellamy ignores his hand, because he's really not here to make friends, and he needs them to know that. He's not some closeted mermaid fan here for an autograph, he needs cold hard information. Nothing less, nothing more.

"Okay then," Wells purses his lips, eyes widened in some kind of holier-than-thou form of amusement, before walking up to Raven and falling down beside her, putting his backpack down beside his feet neatly. She shoves him lightly as a greeting to which he just smiles stupidly and they start talking to each other quietly, him and Clarke long forgotten.

"Where was she when she got turned?" Clarke continues her earlier cross-examination, looking at him expectantly.

"What do you mean where was she?" He says, more because he knows it'll irritate her than anything else. She just stares at him, brow furrowed, and he sighs, because it isn't as fun when she doesn't visibly look the part.

"She told me something about being in a pool, near that dead volcano." He purses his lips in thought, trying to remember the exact story. "Uhm, it's close to Trident."

"When was this again?" She questions, thoughtful look on her face as she walks over to the glass table in front of the kitchenette, opening up some sort of book. He follows her, thinking it over. "It was the twelfth."

Now standing beside her, he realizes she's browsing through a planner. She turns to look at him like she made the discovery of the century, face closer than he'd expected, and he frowns down at where she's pointing a clear finger nail. The twelfth. It doesn't mean anything to him, but it definitely does to her.

She wets her bottom lip, and he can't help think she's pretty like that. Contemplative. "You don't just magically turn—"

"Actually, you do," Raven cuts in once again but Clarke ignores her.

"There have to be external factors contributing to the process. If she was in water near a volcano during a _full moon_ while there was a lightening storm—that would explain how she turned into a siren."

"A mermaid," he corrects her and she's still _so_ close. She smells like salt water and sunshine.

Through gritted teeth, she informs him, "We're _sirens_."

He smirks, conceited even though he knows he's being an asshole. "You get a fishtail when you get wet, you're a mermaid, princess."

"That's—it's," she starts, furiously, but then looks like she decides against it, breathing in sharply, just holding up a hand instead before slamming the planner closed.

He softens, because no matter how much he tries to pretend this is normal, it's not and he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do. And he needs their help.

"Look. I know my sister. She's too stubborn and independent to ask for any help, so I'm here to do it for her," he explains, and it's half his fault for raising her to be like that anyway. He swallows, clenches his jaw for a moment while he finds the right words. "Can you… Can you explain it to me? How can I help her? What do I have to do?"

She must take some sort of pity on him because she sighs, shoulders sagging just a little. "You can't help her."

"What she means is that she should be helped with her siren problems by an actual siren," Wells cuts in, looking away from whatever Raven's showing him on her laptop ( _tasty fish meals?_ ) and over the back of the couch at them.

"I could, I don't know," he wets his bottom lip, racking his brain for options. "I could bring her over, here. Do you have—meetings? Like once a week, or something—" he sounds stupidly obvlious, even he knows that.

"This isn't girl's scouts," Raven snorts, decisively not looking away from the tasty fish meals. "Or boy's scouts," Wells butts in again, helpfully as he nudges the tan girl beside him.

Clarke rolls her eyes, turning back to him. "Listen. For now, all you need to know is that she has to go into the water at least once a day if she doesn't want to feel like she's slowly dying. The sea, that's the dream. But, I know she's new to all of this so it's a process. Showers help, but a bath would be better."

He snorts, because how would that even work? Can you stand upright with a fin? She's mostly just been bathing once a week—because they didn't know what transforming was _actually_ doing to her body—and buying deodorant in bulk, but he _has_ noticed she looks paler and is often tired.

She continues, composed as ever. "Full moons, they screw with our powers—"

"She's not a fucking werewolf," he feels himself bark, his stress levels reaching new heights. Part of him was still convinced this was going to turn out okay, that it would be reversible or she'd be playing the joke of the century on him. Voice low and desperate and even a bit hoarse, "Can't she just—can't you _fix_ her?"

"It's not something that can be fixed," she snaps, fists balled at her sides. Crushing his last sliver of hope, she confirms, "It's irreversible."

"What Clarke means," it's Wells again, because apparently he speaks fluent Clarke, "is that we'd love to help you and your sister out. We don't actually have official gatherings, but we usually all hang out together at this all-ages dive bar up the beach on Saturdays."

"All of you?" He echoes, warily, because _seriously_? How many more? He feels so stupid for not figuring out mermaids were real sooner since apparently Arkadia is swarming with them.

"Just us three in this district, but it'd be nice for her to meet some of the younger, less experienced ones," he smiles, warmly and Bellamy doesn't want to like him, but it's like it's mandatory.

"I know you don't take this too seriously, but this our life and these are my people," Clarke catches his attention by grabbing onto his forearm tightly. "And she's a siren now, so she's my people, too. But, bringing her to us, it's a risk. If she reveals herself, she could reveal all of us."

It makes him less worried, for some reason. Hearing her say Octavia's her people with the kind of tone that implies it's ride or die from there on out. Because, frankly, Octavia's his life, she's _his_ people, his only people, but he feels like—he feels like he can trust her, Clarke. Even though she thinks he's a piece of human trash and he thinks she's a pompous pretentious asshole. A particularly hot asshole, but still.

"I won't tell anyone," he urges, unwrapping her fingers from his arm—ignoring the feel of her soft, cool skin in his palm—dropping her hand as he raises his eyebrows. He was never really one for the whole ' _the people have the right to know about everything right away!_ ' thing anyway. "And I'll make sure she is careful. Promise."

She looks up at him, straight into his eyes like she's searching for something. She must find it, because she nods, final. "Then I guess we'll see you on Saturday."

.

"Bell, you won't believe this but Tiberius—he thinks his treasure chest is tacky."

He actually has to stop reading to process the sentence she just said as she sits down on his desk chair, spinning around a few times. Finally, he gives in, rubbing his face tiredly, as he throws the book onto his nightstand. " _What_?"

"Our goldfish, Tiberius," she looks at him as if he's the stupid one, stopping mid-swirl by planting her feet firmly on the floor. "I can speak to him."

He opens his mouth but then decides it's just not worth the brain cells he'll lose over it. He lays down flat and throws a pillow over his face, mumbling something into it. Something about _craving death in a world that's been a lie his entire life_ , but she doesn't have to know this. Octavia kicks his foot that's hanging over the edge of his bed. "What was that, dipshit?"

"Nothing." He sits up, supporting his weight with his elbow, already dreading the conversation they're about to have. "I found you an expert. By experience."

She pushes his legs aside, lowering herself down onto the bed instead as she raises a skeptical eyebrow. "By experience?"

"Yeah, apparently you're not a special snowflake. There's an entire club of them."

She nods her head to herself, pursing her lips. "Cool. Like clone club, but then—"

"Fish club?" He offers, with half a shrug, and she slaps his foot with the back of his hand, eyes narrowed. He winces, sending her a glare.

His eyes soften as he hauls himself up into a sitting position, putting his hand on top of her knee, comfortingly, praying this won't blow up like it always does when he tells her how to live her life. "Look, I know you said you didn't need any help and I'm proud of you for trying, I am, but I think you need help. I know _I_ do."

"I know, Bell," she smiles, fond. "I was looking for one of those ' _help my sister turned into a sea monster_ ' support groups, but surprisingly came up empty." She looks so young all of a sudden, her smile fading into an almost insecure frown as she wipes a lock of hair from her face, tucks it behind her ear. "When… when can I meet them?"

"This week," he sighs, relieved. "They gave me some tips though. You have to bathe everyday, and stay out of the moonlight." He tilts his head, mock-serious look on his face. "I don't know. Something about not dating any boys in the foreseeable future—"

She narrows her eyes at him, making a point of taking his hand off her knee and dropping it down on the bed. An innocent smile spreads across her face slowly, batting her eyelashes, "Well, luckily, I was thinking about asking out Fox anyway."

"I can deal with girls. Girls are good," he smirks, because two can play that game. She flicks him on the forehead, sticking out her tongue. His smirk fades, gaze turning more grave. "Be nice to them, okay? If you piss them off…" He closes his eyes with a sigh. "I honest to God have no idea how to deal with his myself."

"Bell," she starts, almost offended. "I know you think you wouldn't, but you've dealt with my shit for years. You'd find a way," she tells him, voice stern like she's just right and it's the way things are. Then, she reaches over and wraps her small arms around his shoulders.

He hisses at the feeling off her frame around it, shivering as he pushes her off after a long second. "That's enough, penguin. I'm developing hypothermia over here." He starts rubbing his arms to make a point and she flips him the bird, calling him a pussy, because that's about all the respect he deserves as her authority figure, yeah.

.

The Ark—because the sea references never seem to stop—is already packed with a crowd of people by the time they get there. It seems like most are regulars, though, because there's a nice, calm atmosphere in the bar. Plus, they let in minors? For his own sake, Bellamy won't question why.

He finds Clarke in the sea of people fast enough, pushing himself and Octavia over there. They barely have time for introductions before she gets whisked away by Wells to, what he assumes, are also mermaids.

"That's Harper," Clarke informs him as she downs the last of her drink, signaling the bartender to bring her two new ones. "She just turned fifteen, but she was born a siren, like me and Wells." His eyes find the blonde girl Clarke's looking at, who looks nice enough, smiling shyly at Octavia and Wells.

She leans back against the bar and nods towards a shorter girl who's enthusiastically laughing at his sister undoubtedly claiming ' _I didn't choose the mermaid life, the mermaid life chose me_ '—a joke she picked up a few weeks ago and kept throwing in his face like it meant anything—with her ruddy hair in elaborate braids. "That's Zoe. She's seventeen. Became a Chosen one about a year ago. They live a few towns over with their leader, Anya."

"They seem quite taken with Wells," he notes, cynically as he watches the three teenage girls smile up at the mereman dreamily as he animatedly tells a story. He wasn't even aware Octavia had an attention span that lasted longer than two sentences. "Is he like Anya?"

" _Everyone_ has a crush on Wells." She says it in a such a way he hopes she doesn't mean she does, too. She reaches for her drink, shoving the other his way with a cock of her eyebrow. "But he's not in charge. I am."

"Is it an alpha thing?" He wonders, taking a sip of his drink. He winces a little at the taste, but tries covering it up by gritting his teeth together. It's white whiskey, he guesses. "Did you stab the last leader with your trident?"

"No," she admits, swallowing tightly, looking up at him almost apologetically as she shrugs a little. "It's a nepotism thing, actually. My mother is a pretty important figure in our world."

"Wow. Human problems, huh."

"I _am_ half-human, you know."

"Can I ask you a question?" He says, seriously, and she looks up at him with a thoughtful look, biting down on her bottom lip. He ignores how _that_ makes him feel, and continues his plea to break the tension and get her to stop looking so serious all of the time. "Is Aquaman real?"

It takes a second, but then she breaks into a smile, nudging him with her elbow as she lets out an almost relieved breath as she leans back against the sticky bar once more. She brushes some hair from her eyes, and it's not until she's looking at him funny that he realizes he's staring.

"Sorry," he shakes his head to himself, trying to clear it up. "It's just… I didn't know you _could_ smile."

Her smile turns sharper, challenged almost. "I don't regularly in company of assholes who insists we're called mermaids, no."

"Hey, if it walks like a duck…" He shrugs, and then grins, completely aware he's making a fool out of himself. He bumps his shoulder against hers lightly. "It's nice. Your smile."

"Thanks," she breathes lightly, and even in the dim light he can make out the blush on her cheeks. Raven might be immune, but he's still got it. Her eyes light up mischievously and he feels like he's about to get his heart broken. "Now, about Aquaman…"

.

He was supposed to pick up Octavia from school to go over to the beach hut and meet Clarke and the others. Except, she's not there. He has a minor panic attack, and has been yelling at the poor school principal for not paying better attention to his students for a good four and a half minutes when he remembers to check his phone.

 **O: *bell emoji* was not kidnapped! ! !**

 **O: caught a ride with raven! ! ! ! do not worry**

 **O: i repeat do not worry**

 **O: you forgot to check your messages again right?**

Half of the time he forgets he has the thing, which Octavia is painfully aware of. Hence the texts even though she once informed him ' _double texting isn't sexy_ '. He sends a sheepish smile to Principal Kane before bolting the hell out of there.

He decides to drive over to the Mermaid Headquarters, which he finally does after passing his own house three times; too much in thought to notice he keeps driving in circles around the block.

He just wants to make sure Octavia is okay. Maybe see how she's coping with all of this. Make sure the other ones aren't teaching her how to kill her family and hide their bodies on the bottom of the ocean. Which would just be him, and Octavia could definitely take him.

He regrets the entire thing when he walks in on Clarke, half-naked. She's in her mermaid form, wet hair plastered to her face and back, her back against the couch. Her tail's a dark blue-ish shade. She doesn't bother covering up, just rolls her eyes at him as he stammers his way through a half-assed apology. Halfway through it, he realizes she doesn't really care anyway, and just settles on, "Why are you _naked_?"

He hadn't noticed it on Octavia before, or maybe he hadn't consciously noticed it out of some sort of self-preserving protection mechanism. He noticed she'd had her arm wrapped around her chest when he found her, but he didn't think twice of it. Not when he just found her in full-on mermaid form. And Raven, well. It was maybe three seconds that he saw her in form and her long dark hair had been _everywhere_.

Objectively, out of all four mermaids he'd met in person, Clarke would definitely be his absolute first choice of accidentally walking in on. Raven is definitely not into him and might have a thing with Wells, not Wells either because he might be taken and he's definitely out of his league, and well, Octavia's _Octavia_. This particular walk in though, it's just not… a very enjoyable, two-sided, consensual situation. She looks offended, if anything.

"In all seriousness, you think us wearing clamms on our chests would be more likely than just going nude?" She's drying her arms too rough for it not to hurt, but a towel is covering her chest by now, thank God. Not because he doesn't think she has good breasts—because she has _great_ breasts—but because he doesn't want to see them like this. He likes his women to be as much into it as he is. "Let me guess. You expected all of our names to start with an A, too?"

"Where's Octavia?" He just says, instead of coming up with a wittier response, which is honestly, just not in the cards right now. Or in the foreseeable future. He at least hopes his face has returned to his original color.

"Raven is showing her the riffs because Octavia wanted to see the glowing fish," she answers tonelessly, still busy drying herself off. She's mad, he realizes.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and he can't help it, but he still feels wary. Them and their mermaid business. Of the entire thing. It's always just been him and Octavia and now. Now that's not the case anymore. And it's harder, harder than he thought it would be. "Can you call for them, or something?"

"Yeah, wait a minute, just let me get my magical seashell horn. When I blow it, Under The Sea plays in a tone only we can hear and it automatically attracts every mermaid in a radius of ten miles."

"I guess the answer's no."

She sends him an irritated look, before she's suddenly doing that glitter thing and returns to her human form.

"I'll go get them," Wells speaks up, and it's just now he realizes he walked in at some point in their conversation and must be dying of secondhand embarrassment.

He shoves aside the glass kitchen table, it's foot shaped like a palm tree, revealing a lock attached to the wooden floor. The hatch opens to reveal a direct doorway to the sea. It's actually just a hole, but. It does the job. Wells sends a quick wave, and then disappears into the dark water, the hatch falling shut behind him.

Clarke gets up and brushes herself off, uncomfortably leaning back against the couch as she stares at the floor with her eyes narrowed so dangerously, he'd think she was trying to burn holes through the wood.

"So I guess that all of our short-lived development was just flushed through the toilet? Or the giant hole in your floor, if anything?" He tries to break the obvious tension with a lame-attempt at a meta joke, but it just sound stupid when his neck's flushed and his pulse's a gallop.

"Shut up."

"I get it, it was an accident and you obviously didn't mean for m—"

" _Shut up_."

"I didn't _know_. Honestly, if I'd known—"

She just cuts him off with a glare instead, so intensely, he feels part of his soul die. He's not normally this awkward. There's just this instant urge to prove he's not a jackass whenever he sees her, which has the opposite effect because he _is_ a jackass and he shouldn't be trying this hard.

He quickly mutters an, "I'm sorry, that's all," under his breath. It's hard enough for him to admit he's wrong, she doesn't have to have an attitude about it. He sucks, he more than anyone gets that.

After a moment, the hatch opens and Wells hauls himself out, Octavia following first before Raven pulls herself up with sheer arm strength. He knows better than to look, now, so he doesn't.

When they're dry and a little bit more themselves (and clothed), he finally feels like it's time to express his godgiven right of schooling Octavia's ass.

"I came to check on you. I thought you actually wanted to come here to learn something, turns out you're just playing around." He crosses his arms, fully aware he's doing that asshole thing again, but he can't help it. He's annoyed. "Glowing fish? Seriously?"

Octavia is still drying her hair with a towel when she glares over at him, "Bell, fuck off."

"Yeah, just sit there and be pretty or get gone," Raven interjects with a wave of her hand, as Wells helps her get up from the floor without even asking.

Suddenly, he's hit in the face with a wave of water, the salt stinging his eyes. Practically everyone's snorting, even Wells, which for him just proves it wasn't done with too much of an evil intention. He lifts up the end of his shirt to wipe at his face, catching Clarke's revengeful smirk as she presses, "Like your brother said, it's time for a lesson. Controlling water is one of our gifts, as you can see."

Her eyes dart over his stomach for just a second before she clenches her jaw, pointedly looking over at Octavia. "Most of our gifts are limited to when we're in the water, unless you practice and get stronger. You can then apply the gifts in your daily life, even when you're on land. Or, they can turn more powerful."

He drops his shirt back down as she motions her hand and a surge of water rises out of the hatch. "The ability to control water, for example, could also turn into the ability to control ice." The water falls down on the floor all of a sudden, crumbling into tiny shards of ice. "And air." She instructs this by swiping the ice back into the sea with a gesture of her hand.

"Basically, you're avatars," he interrupts and he catches the small smile on Clarke's face before it turns in a full on laugh as Octavia flicks a gush of water into his face this time.

"What's especially cool is this," Raven snaps her fingers while he's still wiping his face off, and her skin starts patching up, showing discolorations until she's gone.

"Boo," she yelps in Octavia's ear, making her jump up in surprise as Raven cackles, reappearing.

"Invisibility?" His sister gushes, and he knows exactly what's thinking by the way her eyes glitter. Nothing good, that's for sure.

"It's practically biology," Clarke explains, mostly for him because Octavia actually doesn't care, and she looks less pissed off than before. "Like parrotfish. We need to blend in."

"While we're at it… Don't ever sing out loud again," Wells presses, hand on her shoulder. He looks like he's gone to hell and back as he elaborates, "It can lead to some _uncomfortable_ situations with anyone of your prefered romantical partner's sex."

Just thinking about the lengths Jasper went to to get into that girls' locker room, he _gets_ that.

"You talking about that time you lured my mom into the toilet?" Raven smirks and he closes his eyes, like he's in pain. "Don't," he whimpers, holding up a hand. His two friends both laugh.

Clarke throws her arm around Octavia's shoulder loosely, patting her arm softly, "Besides. Have you seen us? It's not like we need a sexy magical theme song to lure men _or_ women towards us."

(He might've imagined it, but he thought she glanced over at him, before quickly looking back at his sister.)

They high five, Octavia still laughing as Clarke mockingly sends her a wistful look. "I was a redhead once for an awful two months, but if you can't take the hits, don't do it. The jokes will _never_ end and it's not worth it."

He tries picturing that, Clarke as a redhead. She could probably pull it off.

"Look at this stuff!" Raven exclaims, voice full of sarcastic wonder as she pretends to look around for something.

"Isn't it neat?" Wells adds, dryly, and they share a giddy look, like they're _so_ clever even though they've probably made this joke two million times by the way Clarke's looking at them.

"Anyway," she rolls her eyes as Wells twirls a giggling Octavia and then dips Bellamy and dramatically lifts Raven up in the air, still belting out the chorus of Part of Your World. "You're brother is right. We should be teaching you more of the basics. Next up: the moon, tides and what it means for us."

.

"Stop hovering in my doorway, creep," Octavia addresses him, not bothering looking up from her homework. Which is a first. It pains him to say, but this mermaid thing might have some sort of positive influence on her.

"I just came to check and see how you were doing," he says in lieu of hello, stepping inside her bedroom. "Then I saw this," he lifts up her notebook for a second, eyebrows raised, "and I took a minute to take it all in, savor the moment. It only happens once every fifteen light years."

"You're a bitch," she tells him, same monotone tone to her voice as she turns the page of her physics book and scribbles something down on the paper in front of her.

Dryly, he remarks. "You're still you I suppose."

She sighs, sitting back in her chair as she looks up from him while he leans against her desk, supporting his weight with his hands. Rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands, she asks, "Why are you really here?"

"You've been hanging out with Clarke a lot, right?" She looks even more unimpressed than a moment ago. "What I wanted to ask was…" He hesitates, trying to find the right words. "What's her deal?"

"You're pathetic."

"What do you mean?"

"You totally think she's hot."

"Not really my type."

"Not your type? I'm sorry, does she not have a regular heartbeat, boobs and a pair of legs?" Everything from the cocked eyebrow, and the sly smirk she's trying to hide, to the challenging glint in her eyes reminds him of himself, so he guesses he can't be that mad at her.

"You through?"

She rolls her eyes, and opens her mouth to obliterate his ass probably when her phone starts ringing.

"Speak of the devil," she mutters as she looks for it in her bag, shoving books, make-up and tampons into his hands in the meanwhile.

— _wants to get the girl_

 _and do I help them?_

 _yes, indeed_

 _those poor unfortunate souls_

 _so sad, so tr_ —

"What the fuck, O?"

"It's our _song_ ," she defends herself, putting it to her ear. "Hi?" She pulls a face at him and points at the door, mouthing a ' _get out, loser_ '. He flicks her on the forehead, dropping her stuff on her bed before getting out there. Not because she asked, but because he knows he won't get anything out of her anytime soon. She's disloyally loyal like that.

.

When he comes to pick Octavia up at the hut, she's not there. Something she seems to be pulling a lot lately. No one is there. It's a little rude, to just, not keep him in the loop like this. He's _still_ her guardian.

He walks back out and a little down the dock, spotting Clarke just a little more ahead, sitting at the end of it, legs dangling above the water. Well… Does he _have_ a choice?

"You've seen O?" He asks quietly as he sinks down next to her, carefully.

She doesn't bother looking at him, just lightly nudges her head towards the left; a gust of sea breeze blows her hair away from her face. "She's at Arkquadia."

"The aquarium?" He's panicking, thinking of the millions things that could wrong, already in the middle of getting back up. "That seemed like a good idea to all of y—"

"Relax," she tells him, laughing a little as she grabs his wrist and pulls him back down. "Lincoln, our friend, who knows about our secret," she sends him a pointed look, "is a dolphin trainer there and she wanted to see them."

He lets out a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging visibly. He closes his eyes in gratitude, he really did not need to embarrass himself again just because his over-protectiveness made him see black.

"Before you calm your heart rate down completely, she might have not just been in it for the dolphins." She grins deceivingly, brushing some of her hair away from her face. "Lincoln's like— _really_ hot. In that broad, muscle-y, dark kind of way, you know, super tall and—"

"I get it," he interrupts her, annoyed, prompting a laugh out of her because obviously she's enjoying this.

"And you thought the sea was scary." He glares at her. "If it helps, we, _fish people_ ," she presses a hand to her chest mockingly, and God, she's _cute_ , "are not allowed to date people from the land."

"Yeah, it would comfort me. If I didn't engrain the whole 'do whatever the hell you want and screw the system' thing into her since birth."

She snorts, shaking her head slightly. He's about to make a lame joke about fish babies, when he moves his hand to rest beside him and cuts it on something sharp, which might be for the better. He winces, looking over at the culprit—a rusty nail sticking out of the wood—before inspecting the cut. It isn't too deep, but it's bleeding quite badly and it might needs stitches and he really can't afford stitc—Clarke is suddenly taking his much larger hand in hers, skin soft against his.

Her other hand hovers above his cut, and suddenly it's glowing a bright light, and when it stops, the cut is gone. If it wasn't for the blood still on his hand, he'd be considering a mental breakdown because mermaids were one thing, but magic?

He looks at her, curls falling into his eyes, almost in awe. He has a million and one questions, but he settles on, "So there's more to this than I initially assumed, isn't there?"

She shrugs, running her thumb over the inside of his hand before quickly pulling away, brushing some hair behind her ear. "We don't usually develop any powers before we're adults. If we even do. I thought I wouldn't bother you two with it for now."

She smirks. "Especially you, considering you look like you're about to faint every time she transforms."

He nudges her with his elbow, then shakes his head, running his fingers on where the wound was like he can't quite believe it. "You can heal people?"

"It's a family gift, I guess. My mom has it, and my grandfather did, too."

"What other powers are there?"

"Wells is supposedly clairvoyant, but I have known him since we were little kids and I think he's just naturally good with people and predicting their behaviour, you know."

"And Raven?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. She's just badass on her own."

"For what it's worth, I'm not like—freaked out by you, or anything. It's just that—I know she doesn't feel like she belongs. Anywhere." He runs a palm over his face, shaking his head lightly. "I'm her brother, but I'm also her only family and I don't, and I can't, understand everything about it, what she is now. Watching her with you, you all, it just—it scares me." He swallows tightly, avoiding eye-contact. "Because, because she'll _always_ have a place with me, but it never occurred to me before that she might not want that."

"That's a load of shit and you know it," Clarke huffs, shaking her head lightly. There's a fierce determination in her eyes that makes him actually believe every word that she says. "She loves you. Don't be the jealous possessive type, okay? It's not a good look, not even on you."

"Not even on me," he repeats her words slowly, eyebrows raised teasingly. "Wow. I think that was an actual a compliment. About me. Coming from you."

She snorts, but her cheeks color lightly. It's a little endearing. "It's not that deep, dude."

He notices their pinky fingers are almost touching, but doesn't pull away. He kind of feels like he's part of some schmoopy rom-com movie all of a sudden, but he doesn't mind. "Hey, I can totally do jealous and possessive and still be the guy of your dreams. Hell, I can pretty much do—"

"Whatever the hell you want," she finishes for him, but she looks skeptical. "You do realize you can't _always_ just do whatever the hell you want, right?"

"I know," he says, surprising her, "Secretly I like rules. I told myself I wanted to be a cop so I could provide for Octavia, give her a better life than I had. Make something out of myself."

He thinks it over for another second, staring out at the dark blue of the unending sea. He doesn't know why he suddenly feels the need to reveal so much of himself, but he suspects it's because a small part of him hopes she'll return the favor. And he _really_ wants to know her.

"But, recently I've just found myself really enjoying my pre-academy classes. I don't know, there's something about rules and certainty that's just really nice, you know?" He chuckles, half-heartedly, breath hitching just a second when her hand makes contact with the back of his, offering some comfort.

"Especially since the rest of my life raising a teenager isn't. My life has never really been very predictable for that matter. With my mom being sick and all." He drags his eyes away from the water to look at her, almost apologetic. He still feels like a bad brother for wanting things for himself sometimes. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, I get it. My entire life was planned for me before I was even born." She doesn't really look like she's planning on continuing so he nudges her with his elbow. She doesn't look ready to budge quite yet. His smirk widens. "Come on, I told you my sob story."

She rolls her eyes, but she's pretty much beaming so it's okay. "I think, for my mom, because I was born out of a forbidden relationship, you know, real scandal in our community," she jokes, but it kind of falls flat because she looks so sad all of sudden. He remembers what Wells or Raven said, about her mom being mermaid royalty and her dad being human. "There was always so much more pressure on her for me to excel. Nevermind I don't want any of it, the legacy, the responsibilities."

"Do you ever talk to her about it?" He thinks about it a lot. Talking to his mom. Before the depression took over, before she took her life and left him with nothing and everything at the same time. He got Octavia, but that was about it. He was on his own.

"We call each other, once a month." She shrugs. "It's better for the both of us. It keeps me from saying something I'll regret and it keeps her from prying too much into my life."

"Your dad… He isn't around?" He doesn't know why he asks, because he always hates it when people ask him. He's never known his dad and he doesn't need to be reminded of it every time some asshole tries to make small talk at a party. He wants to know, though, he wants to know her better, understand her.

"My dad never knew about my mom, or me. One day, they had a huge fight about our future. My dad wanted to leave, change cities, and my mom she just got up and left." She clears her throat softly, and he turns around his hand to squeeze hers. "He saw my mom take out our boat even though it was hurricane season and he went after her because he thought that she was going to die out there. They never found her and they never found his body."

"I'm sorry," he offers, quietly, running his thumb over her cold, soft skin.

"When my dad died, I guess… I guess I always kind of blamed her for it. If she just would've left with him when he asked her to, if she'd just listened to him or told him who she really was," she wonders, shaking her head, jaw slightly clenched. Her eyes are full of conflicting emotions, running a hand through her hair with her free hand. "And being _who_ I am, the responsibility, everything I do just reminds me of why my father died."

"I guess not every nineteen year old girl is responsible for an entire clan of mermaids."

She lets out a small chuckle, looking surprised at the sound, "I guess not." She licks his lips, and he's painfully aware they're just casually ignoring the fact they're holding hands. "It's a small community, but people talk. I know what they say, because I would say the same thing. I got where I am because of my mom."

"But you like it, right? Teaching them, leading them, being their person," he presses, looking at her. She hesitates for a moment, then nods, timid smile playing on her lips. "Then screw what everybody thinks. You're great leader, Clarke. And that has nothing to do with who your mom is or what she did, that's because you're you. And you may be a huge pain in the ass, but you're _great_."

There's a beat, a moment, their eyes locking just a little too intently, both leaning just a little too close. She swallows, tight, eyelids fluttering closed as he moves a stray strand of wavy hair from her face. There's a gush of wind and he leans in just a little further, admiring her fair skin and beautiful bone-structure when—when, someone splashes them with cool water, causing them to jump apart, Bellamy's heart beating loudly in his ears. It's Octavia… with a dolphin. "Get in, losers, we're going swimming!"

(She avoids his gaze for the rest of the day, not directing a single word to him. He probably crossed a line, one he hopes he can still uncross because Clarke, she's… great. He'd miss her.)

.

Naturally, when someone texts you at 11 a.m. to meet them in a strange alley behind some underground club in a shady neighbourhood at 1 a.m., you say yes. It's Clarke, and she's cute and all, but he has to be en route to school at 6 a.m. because of big project deadline coming up soon.

Then he imagines her in some dark alleyway, alone in the middle of the night, throws on a ratty old flannel shirt and he's on his bike within five minutes. God knows why she wants to meet him, he just knows she's fearless and _will_ get herself murdered in a creepy alley because she is too stubborn.

Clarke shows up five minutes later then him, just when he's expecting this to be some stupid practical joke his sister was playing on him and that little snake to jump out any second now.

"Hey," she breathes, pulling her leather jacket tighter around herself, halting next to him as she stares into the same alley he was staring down. It looks even creepier than he imagined. ' _DELINQUENTS_ ' is spelled out in big, neon green letters above the building on the right in front of them, the first 'E' and the second 'N' flickering on and off every other second. He hates clubs, out of principle, but this one is especially seedy.

"What are we doing here, exactly?" He questions warily, in lieu of a greeting. He feels like he should've dressed in leather too, you know, just to fit the part. He's just a simple history slash criminology student, how did he end up _here_?

"Do you need me to hold your hand or something?" Clarke grins, amused, turning her head to look at him. God, why is she so attractive? Blonde hair pulled back from her face, skin rosy from the cold, lips curved into a beautiful smile. He needs to get a grip.

"No," he bites back, no heat, "I just want to know why I need to load on six shots of espresso tomorrow morning." Although he wouldn't mind holding her hand, but that feels too intimate of a joke to make.

"You know how I told you the moon, the tide, it influences us?" She asks him, tucking some hair back into her bun, blue eyes meeting his with a sudden uncertainty, like he's not going to like where this is going.

He hums in agreement as they start walking down the alley, cringing as some sort of bat flies out at them. "I'm kind of reconsidering the whole holding your hand thing."

She laughs, arm brushing against his and putting his body on full alert all of a sudden. "I want to get Octavia a moon ring. They're very rare and powerful, but can help you control the change, once you get powerful enough."

"And you're getting it _here_ … how?" He inquires, on guard for anything too suspicious. He's still not entirely sure she didn't just lure him here to kill him, siren style. He's read _all_ of the mythology.

"We're meeting someone. His name is Murphy." She glances over at him from the corners of her eyes, then focuses her gaze on anything but him. She clears her throat lightly, and he notices her fingers are nervously flexing and unflexing against the side of her thigh. "I figured you could pick the one that fits her best, you know, since you know her best."

He knows it's a lame attempt at trying to make him feel like he's still part of her life, but for some reason, it doesn't feel like Clarke is babying him. He feels warm all of a sudden, thankful. Octavia means the world to him, and it's been hard, not being the person for her that he used to be. They've been fighting a lot and, things are different regardless of the state of their relationship or her human status. She's growing up, and it hurts that she might not need him anymore. But this gesture, however tiny and weirdly timed, is the best thing that's happened to him in a while.

"He's a witch," Clarke informs him under her breath, voice casual, just as they reach a greasy looking dude, rings on his fingers, nails painted black, hair falling in his face. Huge cloak. He's still looking at Clarke like she's crazy when Murphy (he guesses) smirks, in that uncomfortable creepy guy way, pushing himself off the wall of the back entrance of DELINQUENTS that he's smoking against and out of the shadows. He gives her a once-over, blowing the last of the smoke into their direction. " _Griffin_. What a surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Murphy," she states, unbothered as she crosses her arms over her chest. Bellamy feels like an idiot just standing there, but he's once again, rushing through a tiny existential crisis in a span of thirty seconds.

"You bring a guard dog?" He's sneering, making a point of not looking his way like he's some piece of gum on the bottom of his beat up dr. Martens. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

Clarke grinds her jaw, doesn't budge. "I need a moon ring." She's good at this, he notes, really good. She's nineteen years old and she's going head-to-toe with a witch, not even blinking twice. It's badass, and he admires her in a totally different light.

"What's in it for me?" Murphy leers at her up and down and back up in a really unsettling way, then reaches out to do God knows what. Before he actually can touch Clarke, out of some sort of reflex, Bellamy slaps his grabby claw away before his brain can even register it. The last thing Bellamy needs is to be hexed by a dude witch over some stupid alpha thing, but this guy is really pissing him the hell off.

"You're a brave one, aren't you?" Murphy sneers, venomously, pulling his hand from his grip. He reaches up to flick a streak of greasy hair away from his eyes. "Touch me again, and I'll end you." He look at Clarke, whose shoulders are tense and in a defensive stance, holding up his hands in faux innocence. "In a non-lethal way, of course."

She takes a step forward, getting in his face. It's a power move, and it makes him just a little proud.

"I'll owe you a favor," she presses, narrowing her eyes knowingly. She shrugs nonchalantly, voice innocent, "You know, next time you encounter a pack of murderous lycanthropes or centaurs who you screwed over one way or another, I'll put in a good word for you."

Murphy looks pleased, too pleased, and Bellamy kind of feels like dying a little. It feels like the bad guy is winning for some reason—which is against every moral he has in every single cell of his body—and it doesn't sit right with him. Something is up with this guy and his entire body is screaming for them not to make any sort of deal with him.

Bellamy grabs her by the elbow, pulling her aside, searching her face for any clue of sudden lunacy. "Don't tell me you trust this guy?" He eyes the witch, who's just observing his nails with pursed lips like he's bored. What an arrogant little shit.

"Trust? No," she answers, indefinitely and maybe a little humoured. She licks her bottom lip, tilting her head reassuringly. "But he has _a lot_ of enemies and a cockroach will do whatever he can to survive. I trust that."

And he guesses he trusts her, because he nods, reluctant, adam's apple moving visibly as she leads them back to Murphy, delicate paint-stained fingers wrapped around his upper-arm. Clarke cocks an eyebrow, inclining her head slightly to indicate a go-ahead.

The witch turns his palm up, moving his forefinger in a circular movement until three rings appear in his hand. He flattens it, stretching it out for them to look at the objects.

One has a light-blue aquamarine stone and a silver bypass band, which he feels is a little too predictable and cliché so that one is a no-go. There's a thick twisted gold banded opal stone in the shape of an actual moon which is alright, he guesses. Then his eye falls on the third ring. It's a delicate, silver band with a glowing purple amethyst gemstone. It's small, but beautiful.

"Ancient Greeks and Romans believed an amethyst stone would ward off intoxicating powers and keep the wearer clear headed and quick-witted," he explains, picking up the last ring. Not that Octavia isn't quick-witted enough, but the whole clear headed thing could help. With puberty. And the whole mermaid thing. "Also, she loves purple."

Clarke snorts, shaking her head lightly, momentarily forgetting they have a third wheel as she smiles over at him. "Jesus, you're such a nerd."

"I'm educated," he counters, returning a fond grin. "There's a difference."

"This is so tragic," Murphy mutters under his breath, grimacing like he's embarrassed _for_ them before closing his fist around the other two. When he opens his hand, they're gone. He exchanges a quick look with Clarke, who just nods at him. A small smirk appears on the witch's face, then it disappears.

Clarke tugs on his flannel, starting to walk back down the alley and towards the streetlights and traffic. He follows her quickly, closing his fist tightly around the small ring. He gets why _he_ would risk his life like this, just to help Octavia, but Clarke doesn't _have_ to and she does it anyway.

"Parting, such sweet sorrow, right?" He calls after them, sarcastically, and when Bellamy looks back, he's gone and everything just feels like a really weird out of body experience.

They reach his bike, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "That was weird."

She huffs, humoured. "You could say that." She wraps her arms around herself, like she's shielding herself from the cold, but he remembers she's cold-blooded so she doesn't really _get_ cold. She must be trying to make herself feel more comfortable, protected. He would, too, after that whole episode back there.

He grabs her hand, puts the small ring inside of it. He explains, nodding at her, grave, "You should give it to her," before he drops his hands back down at his sides.

Clarke looks like she's about to protest, but he sends her a look and she closes her mouth just in time, closing her fingers around it tightly. She sighs, giving in, "Sure."

There's a moment of awkward silence before she nods, final, fixing her jacket. "Okay. I'll see you."

"Clarke, wait," he pleas, grabbing her wrist, because he feels like he needs to do this. "Thank you. Really."

"For what?" She's smiling, tired, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

For risking her life cutting a deal with a guy who looks about as reliable as Fox News, for taking him here just to make him feel better about his mess of a life, most of all—he wants to tell her thank you for something else entirely.

"You know, it's hard, not being able to be the person Octavia comes to for help," he forces out, and he hates the fact that he's getting teary-eyed but that's who he is. He frowns, swallowing tightly. "I really, I never—I mean everything I do, I do for her, and I—I just want her to be happy. But. I can't imagine my life without her." It doesn't feel like he's telling her anything new, but it still feels heavy to admit, out loud, to anyone else but himself. "So, _thank you_ , for being the person she can come to. Despite everything, I'm glad she has you."

She squeezes his forearm, comfortingly, offering him a supportive, closed-lipped smile. Then she leans up on her tippy-toes to kiss him on the cheek, surprising him to say the least. She pats him on the chest, firm. "You are a _great_ brother."

He nods, stiffly, then again, her words finally being processed in his head, sniffing a little as he wipes at his eyes with the board of his flannel quickly. "You know, this random Tuesday night turned out a lot differently then I expected."

Her chest vibrates with laughter, as she starts walking backwards into the direction she came from, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Hey. Don't say I can't have fun."

"You called the encounter we just had with that clown _fun_?" He responds, raising his voice just a little because of the growing distance as he settles on top of his bicycle. "Your definition is way off. I need _multiple_ drinks to forget his face."

She beams, then tells him, "Have one for me, yeah?" before turning around and disappearing around the corner.

As he lays in his bed that night—staring at the ceiling because his cheek still feels warm from her lips and his pulse is still going all kinds of crazy whenever he thinks of their night—he realizes he's in way too deep.

It's too late to get out now.

.

He's halfway through half-assing a paper while catching up on a documentary series about vikings on discovery channel, when his bell rings. Since he apparently doesn't get there fast enough, there's another few heavy, hasty knocks.

"O, what the fuck? Did you forget your k— _oh_ ," he stumbles on his words as he blinks at Clarke standing in front of him, not his sister.

"Octavia isn't home?" Clarke pants, frowning, eyes almost wild.

"No, she's at the aquarium again," he answers, lips pursed in silent compulsory acceptance. It's not like he had much of a say in who Octavia saw or didn't see. He lifts up a corner of his mouth, cynical, "Thanks for that by the way."

"The heart wants what it w—," she winces, falling against the door, and it's now he notices the way her hand is inside her jacket, on her ribs, blood trickling down her wrist, forehead covered in a shiny layer of sweat.

She stumbles on her feet and he's just in time to catch her, wrapping his arm around her waist as he leads her inside. "What the hell happened?"

"I got into a fight with a shark," she retorts, which was supposed to be a joke, but is kind of hard to see as humour when she's grimacing in pain and wincing at every step she takes.

"Huh?" He responds, dumbly, helping her further inside. He can't really think clearly, since she's _Clarke_ and she's supposed to be the healer and all.

"He was an avid Trump supporter," she elaborates as he helps her down on the couch, pushing aside her jacket to assess the damage.

He ignores her stupid coping mechanism, taking her trembling hand off her side. There's a few deep cuts, some more shallow. His eyes dart from cut to cut, searching for a solution. "Can't you just heal yourself?"

"I'm too weak," she informs him, leaning her head back on the couch as she presses her fingers back against her side. "I'd hoped that—" she flinches as she applies more pressure, "that by the time I got here, I would be recovered enough that Octavia could help me heal myself."

"I'm calling her," he announces, already patting around him to find where the hell he left the device.

"Don't," she urges, sitting up, which she immediately regrets from the look of her face. "Just—put me in water, please. I need to regain some of strength."

"Let me call Octavia," he pushes, concerned, as he helps her up, carefully removing her jacket to reveal her ripped, bloodied, dark blue henley. "Or at least Raven or Wells. Maybe they can help."

"No, no," she waves him off as she leans against the wall in front of the stairs, looking up at them as if it'll be the last thing she'll ever do. "They don't need to know. They'll just worry."

"What?" He snaps, getting just a tiny bit frustrated with her Messiah's complex, moving his arm from around her shoulders to her waist, eyes narrowed just a little. "You bear it so they don't have to?"

She doesn't say anything, just breathes heavily, pressing a palm to her forehead as she closes her eyes. He knows it's not the time or the place to yell at her, but he doesn't think he can deal with this on his own.

He's not done yet, though. "They're your friends, they're _supposed_ to bear it with you."

"Are you gonna help me or not?" She speaks sharply, finally looking at him. She's paler than ever, skin still shiny with sweat, forehead creased.

He grinds his jaw, nodding, once, as he lifts her up, figuring she's too weak to walk the stairs. She doesn't protest, which must mean she's _really_ out of it.

When he finally gets her in the bathtub and under the spray of water, she doesn't even transition, just lies there, fragile and static.

"It's good," she manages to get out, mumbling, "Helping."

"Thank God," he lets out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, shoulders sagging a little. After a moment, he leaves to gather some supplies. He's not sure what a mermaid needs for a healthy recovery, but he just takes whatever helps Octavia when she has the flu.

"Don't you have a pool or something?" She asks, voice hoarse, right when he steps back in the bathroom. "A pool would definitely help."

He sends her a look and she sighs, closing her eyes. "Sorry. Right. Shortsighted rich girl assumptions."

"What really happened?" He tries, gently, pressing a warm cloth to her forehead carefully. He uses his other hand to wipe some of her wet hair back from her face. At least she stopped actively bleeding, that's a plus.

"I had to return a favor," she says finally, peaking at him through half-lidded eyes, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. "There was a sea monster, a Cetus, his name is Dirk, actually, and—uhm," she takes a deep breath, "I had to get out of the water, or he would've killed me. I couldn't go back in to heal either, because, _well._ "

All this, for a stupid ring? Octavia was doing fine without it, she would've been able to learn how to control her transitions later on, which, sure, would've been an inconvenience but this? This is so much more than—

She puts her hand on top of his wrist. Like she already knows what he's going to do or say. " _Don't_."

He lets out a sharp breath, gritting his teeth together as he presses the cloth against the back of her neck instead. Focusing his eyes on the cloth instead of her, because if he looks at her, he might still open his mouth and give her a piece of his mind.

"Do you need anything?" He forces out, instead of a rant that's going to cost him maybe all the built up friendship with her and is probably going to get him killed by a witch. "I could make some food, I have some leftover soup, or.. or pop tarts. That's all the options really. Or if you want, I can go out and get something."

"You're such a mom," she mumbles, tired and almost affectionate, eyes closed and head leaning back on the tub.

"Thanks?" He runs a hand through his hair, sending her a funny look over the edge of the bathtub. He really hopes she isn't dying from some internal head wound that is making her say weird shit.

"You have a big heart," she clarifies like that's supposed to mean anything, patting him on the hand. He searches her face for any sign of _anything,_ really, but her eyes are closed and it's hard to read her face without them.

She opens her eyes, slowly, blinking a few times as she turns her head to the side. "What's that?"

"Huh?" He looks down at his laundry basket full of supplies. "Oh. The Iliad. My mom gave it to me when I was a little. I always read it to Octavia when she was sick." He takes it in his hands, running a finger over the title softly. Absentmindedly, "Seemed to help."

"Read it to me," she murmurs, turning her head back straight, shutting her eyes again. She looks better at least, less pale. He hopes that's a good sign.

"You sure?" He checks, wary, folding one foot under him, stretching the other. Even Octavia felt too cool for it now.

"No, I wasted precious energy telling you to read to me for shits and giggles," she manages to get out a full sentence, even conveying some sort of sarcasm with the look on her face.

"Fuck," he huffs, humoured as he opens the old, worn book to the first page, like he's done a million times before. "Okay, here we go."

After a while she falls asleep, and then later, she transitions, which is—great, because it means she's getting stronger. (He covers her up with a towel, just to be sure she doesn't think he was inappropriately ogling her all this time when she wakes up.)

In the morning, she's strong enough to heal herself, and after breakfast in the bathtub, she's able to get out of the water and stand on her legs. He gets her some clothes and towels, offering to take a shower while she changes.

When he gets out, she's changed, sitting on his bed with the Iliad in her lap. It's a strange but not unwelcome sight.

"How's your side?" He asks, trying to dry his hair with a towel before throwing it into the bathroom in hopefully the direction of a hamper. Her head snaps up to look at him, like she hadn't even heard him come in, when he walks over to his closet, pulling open a drawer to get out some pants.

She pulls on the hem of his v-neck shirt—and he guesses he could've given her one of Octavia's but the thought didn't cross his mind immediately and Clarke didn't mention it either so she must be fine with it—looking at him awkwardly, voice just a little hoarser than normal. "Like nothing happened."

Objectively, he knows he looks good. He's had plenty of compliments from girls and even guys, and he knows he's _in shape_. He like, works out twice a week to prepare for the academy. Still, it feels good to see her skin flushed _because_ of him.

"Can you even go back into the sea now?" He wonders, disappearing into his closet to fish out a wearable t-shirt, too.

"Y-yeah, yeah," she stammers, distracted, placing all her hair on one shoulder. "A cetus is like a goldfish. Their memory sucks."

"Well, at least they're pretty," he states, sinking down on the bed next to her. He runs a hand through his hair, and it's awkward but he doesn't know _why_ it's awkward. It just is. There's something she's not saying, and it shows. Something they're avoiding here.

"Yeah," she breathes, staring at him for a moment before suddenly slapping her thigh, snapping out of it as she puts the Iliad down beside her. Flustered, "I should get going. Thank you, for your help. And not telling anyone."

Before he has time to actually respond, she's already halfway down the stairs, and just as he gets out a, "no problem," the front-door slams shut.

Octavia pads into his room after a moment or two, full-on bed-head hair and bags under her eyes. "Who was that?" She asks, voice gruff with sleep as she rubs at her eyes. He's surprised she didn't notice earlier, but guesses it's not his secret to tell.

He gets up from his bed, deciding a second breakfast never hurt anyone as he ruffles her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, before skidding down the stairs. "No one you know."

.

"Naturally, we're attracted to water," Clarke says, downing another shot from her place at the bar, slumping down on her barstool. She's flanked by Octavia and Monroe, both listening attentively to every word that comes out of her mouth. He thinks Octavia was even taking notes at one point, which is just… Mind Blown. "We love nature, we can even sometimes control nature, blah blah. It's not all that great. But, we also feel deeply, feel what other feels, especially humans."

"It's called psychic empathy," Wells adds helpfully from beside Octavia, sipping on his pink cocktail, putting up a finger.

Raven's hand is moving up his leg, getting dangerously close to his crotch. He doesn't know what's up with her today. She hasn't even been drinking. She just suddenly decided she wanted him, and that was that.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asks her in a hushed whisper, grabbing a hold of her wrist, drowning out whatever Clarke says next and Wells will evidently budge in on. Octavia is five feet away for God's sake.

She cocks her head slightly, long brown hair falling down her shoulders. Eyes him, challengingly. "You're not interested?"

He frowns at her. "My sister is right there."

She huffs, licking her lips in an almost annoyed matter. "She's sleeping over at Monroe's, unless you want to drive her over and tuck her in, she'll be fine."

"What about," he lowers his voice, frowning, quickly checking to see if he's not looking. "Wells?" He's pretty sure their tension could be cut by a knife whenever they were having a conversation. He wasn't really about to get in between whatever lover's quarrel they were in that made her want to make him jealous.

"What about him?" She asks, annoyed and he sends her a pointed look. She rolls her eyes. "He knows I'm not ready for a relationship and gives me the sexual freedom I need. You happy?"

If he's honest, it does make him feel better. He likes Raven, she's badass. And incredibly hot. It's been a while, so it'd be good. Fun. If she wanted to. And Clarke, well. Clarke doesn't have anything to do with it, regardless, but. Maybe it'd be nice, help him get rid of these one-sided feelings he's been having for a while now.

"If you think I'll do the decent thing and say no, I'm not that guy."

"Good," she smirks, squeezing his bicep appreciatively. "This should be fun."

Raven cocks an eyebrow, downing the rest of her drink. Suddenly, he realizes Clarke is still talking. "But humans, they can never really get us," her fingers visibly tighten around her glass as Raven leans closer to his ear, whispering something dirty, he's sure. He just doesn't really hear over the music and Clarke's loud glare. Clearing her throat, and speaking up, just a little louder. "This is why we have to stay detached."

.

"You have a nice place," he says, still a little out of breath as he puts an arm behind his head, admiring her dorm-room. It's bigger than Miller's dorm, that's for sure, and it doesn't look like she even has to share.

"I kind of hacked the school system way back when and got myself a single room," she says in a single breath, matter-of-factly. Not ashamed or proud, it's just a thing she did.

He nods his head, impressed, opening his mouth to make some sort of witty remark about his mortgage and her hacking kills, when she beats him to it.

"Clarke likes you." Raven informs him, again matter-of-factly, sitting up in her bed, sheets pressed to her chest, to which he just turns his head, sending her an alarming look.

"What?" He asks, dumbly, blinking at her like an idiot.

Raven just raises her eyebrows in that ' _I'm not even going to bother_ ' way she does, reaching for the floor with one arm before pulling her shirt back over her head.

She throws his own shirt at his face, which he doesn't even catch because his mind is running a million miles a minute. "I—she _hates_ me. She's constantly rolling her eyes and telling me off."

"Sure," she responds, without much tone as she shrugs into her jeans, buttoning them up quickly.

"No seriously," he sits up himself, pulling his henley over his head. Even just imagining what she said has him on the verge of crazy laughter. "I'm pretty good at this kinda thing. I know when girls like me. Clarke does not like me."

"You're good at charming girls when you want to. Other than that, you're clueless." He opens his mouth to respond but she cuts him off, lacing up her boots as she addresses him. "How long did it take for you to catch on I was hitting on you?"

He gets up, mauling it over in his head as he steps into his underwear, and then his jeans, shaking his head to himself. "Fair point, but I don't think Clarke—I just don't see it."

He sits down on the end of the bed, Raven on his left as he watches her put her brace back on. A little wary, he adds, "Aren't you two friends?"

"We are," she glances over at him like he's stupid for not figuring this out already. Collecting her hair, she pulls it up in ponytail, shrugging lightly. "I'm helping her."

"You're _helping_ her by... sleeping with me?" He remarks, more for himself than her, he just wants to make sure it sounds as dumb out loud as in his head. "If she likes me, isn't that something she'd get mad about that?"

"Yeah," she states, standing up and testing out her leg, and for a moment it sounds like that's all the explanation he's going to get. Then, she adjust her brace just a little before she turns to him, eyebrows raised. She's always intimidating, but towering over him like that, it's even worse. "She was highkey jealous last night. It'll help her realize what she feels about you. That girl is about as in touch with her feelings as a computer and _sometimes_ she needs a little push. She's a runner, she runs from everything. _Especially_ her feelings."

She huffs, stretching a little before crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides, it's the twenty-first century. Girls support girls having healthy sex lives. You can't _own_ people, you're not going to be my property because you've touched my vagina or God forbid, be ruined because of it forever."

He rubs at his eyes with his fingers, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "You sound insane, you know that, right?"

"We'll see about that soon enough." She kicks his shoes his way, corners of her mouth turning up in a smirk. "I'm hungry. You're going to buy me a burger."

.

He has a huge fight with Octavia. He's happy for her, that she's found a place, people who she belongs with that aren't family and that she's supposed to like. He's just not happy she stays out until any hour she likes, or stays over at someone's house without telling him, or just doesn't inform him about anything, period.

"You called the police?" She barks, throwing her backpack on the kitchen island. Her hair looks unbrushed, and she's still wearing yesterday's clothes.

"I didn't know where you were," he answers, calmly, shoulders tense. He wants to hug her, ask her if she's okay, more than anything—but she doesn't understand why she's in the wrong here, so he can't. "The last text you sent me was before dinner, and then you just didn't show up and you stayed gone the entire night."

"I can take care of myself," she hisses, hands on her hips. He almost wants to laugh, because she couldn't look more like a fifteen year old than in this moment. She raises her eyebrows, like that's supposed to mean something, "Especially now."

"You think you're invincible all of sudden? You think some _water_ is going to stop some 6'3 guy from trying to get from you what he wants?" He snaps, calm and cynical.

She huffs, shaking her head. "Please, Bell. Don't be so dramatic and make this a bigger deal than it is. I'm fine."

"Dramatic?" He questions, bewildered, blood boiling at this point. "How about being grounded for three weeks, is that dramatic enough for you?"

"You've got to be kidding me," she retorts, astounded, jaw set.

"Try me," he challenges, eyes narrowed dangerously, arms crossed over his chest.

"You're being such a fucking dictator right now," she spits, fists balling at her sides, "I just forgot to text you, _once_. It was a mistake."

"Thanks for the apology," he responds, bitter, "but you're still grounded."

"You can't ground me if I don't live here," she tests him, eyes thin slits of defiance and spite.

"Fine, then _leave_ ," he answers, without skipping a beat, the only reason his voice doesn't shake is because he knows she doesn't mean it. At least, that's what he believes, until she sticks her middle finger in the air before slamming the door shut behind her.

 **Raven: You need to chill out, man**

 **Raven: I was helping her with her physics homework and then she was tired so I asked her to stay over**

 **Raven: She forgot to text you**

 **Raven: It's not that big of a deal**

He contemplates a lot of replies, but in the end decides it's better to not get into it. He knows Raven always took care of herself during her childhood, and later on, so she doesn't really know what it's like, for him. He doesn't want to act like Octavia's parental figure because he's her brother, but sometimes he needs to. For the both of them. And brother, or parental figure, neither of it keeps him from worrying about her. He's not being unreasonable, really.

But, it's been a week without contact, and he misses her. He misses her, and he's scared for her, and he can't sleep at night because of it. He hasn't seen her friends either, because seeing them probably meant running into Octavia. He doesn't want to run into her, because he'll give in, and he's not in the wrong here. He won't be.

At ten p.m., there's a knock on the door. He almost shatters his phone by dropping it on the coffee table without a second thought and about trips over his own feet because he wants to get there before she changes her stubborn mind. But, when he opens the door it's not Octavia. It's Clarke.

"Hi," she breathes, like she's surprised at the sight of him, like she hadn't expected him to actually open the door. "Can I come in?"

He nods, holding the door open further as he leads her to the living room, falling back down on the couch as he looks at her. She stands in front of the TV, awkwardly considering where to sit down. She settles on sitting down beside him, on the couch.

She clears her throat, and before she can open her mouth, he buts in, "So, why are you here?" It's good to see her, really good, because he might've missed her a little, too, but she's here with an ulterior motive, not for him.

"Well, great to see you, too, Bell," she snorts, raising her eyebrows and he lets out a deep sigh. "Sorry."

"How've you been?" She asks, finally and he leans his head back on the couch, staring at a dumb photo of him and Octavia at Disney World when she was twelve. He saved over two years worth of tips for that trip. He huffs, running a hand over his face. "Just… Amazing."

"Yeah, you look the part, too," she laughs, soft, squeezing his thigh. "Is there any way to fix this mess? Octavia's been skipping the first three stages of grief and went straight into depression."

"I'm not the bad guy here, Clarke," he snaps, glaring at her because he can't—he needs her to be on his side on this, even just for a second.

"Hey," she moves her hand to his shoulder, applying a firm amount of pressure to get through to him. "There are no bad guys, okay? She did a shitty thing, and you had a shitty way of responding. You're both human."

He turns his head to glare at her some more, but she tilts her head slightly, one eyebrow cocked. "You told her to leave. You were supposed to tell the angry, hormonal teenager she isn't going anywhere."

He turns his head, leaning his face on her hand for a moment, in thought. Then, he sighs. "I'm scared I'll lose her. I'm scared I'll lose her if I keep her too close, and I'm scared as hell I'll lose her if I let her go." He sniffs, jaw set to keep from crying because he doesn't want to make it a big deal, but it _is_. "And the truth is, I can't do this without her. The only thing that has kept me going for this long is her."

"You keep saying that you can't do this without her, that you're afraid to lose her," she urges, thumb softly running over the back of his neck, offering him a small smile. "But I think it's actually her who can't do this without you."

"What do you want me to say?" He questions, defeated, searching her eyes for an answer.

She wets her bottom lip, hesitating for just a moment, before answering, sure, "I want you to say you're with us."

"Of course I'm with you," he says, a little too fast, wanting to sound powerful like he's confident of his answer, but instead it comes out all soft and sounding like a love confession of some sorts. He can never, ever not let his feelings come out one way or another.

She swallows, hard, eyes not leaving his, and everything all of a sudden feels so heavy and intimate. Their knees touching, her hand on the junction of his neck and shoulder, her eyes darting over to his lips for just a second, the way his heart seems to go fast and simultaneously so slow.

Her hand moves up slightly, thumb brushing across his jawline. She drops her hand all of a sudden, like she just realized something, avoiding his eyes. "You and Raven?"

He shrugs, can't help himself but reaching out to grab her hand in his once again. "Raven said you wouldn't get mad, just jealous."

"Jealous, huh?" She repeats it, like it's the first time she's ever heard the word. Like it's the strangest idea, that she'd be jealous of him and someone else.

Still, he has to ask. "Well. Did it work?"

Suddenly, she leans forward, pressing her lips against his. It starts out static and still, then he puts his hand on the back of her head to pull her closer, and her shoulders relax and the frown on her face smooths out, putting her hand on the side of his face. Just like that, it's _good_. It feels like relief. Like he's been living a lie for so long, and now he can finally breathe.

After a moment, she pulls away, resting her forehead against his. A little out of breath, "Was that the answer you were looking for?"

"Can't say I minded," he breathes, leaning closer to peck her lips again, a stupid smile on his face he can't wipe off, not even to make him look just a little cooler in front of her. "I mean, I've been wanting to do that for a while."

"Yeah?" She whispers, voice hoarse, a little shy all of a sudden as she pulls back to look at him.

"Obviously," he presses, tucking some hair behind her ear, thumb brushing over her cheek. "You're amazing, _smart_ , caring. I won't need health insurance with you on my side. What's not to like?"

And she grins, slow and then bright, teeth knocking together as they kiss again. Then, they're not smiling, because her tongue is doing really amazing things, and his hand's on her ass (which feels even better). She throws one knee over to his other side, to straddle him, get better access.

"Now that we're being honest," he says, voice a little gruff, as she starts pressing kisses down his neck, hand moving up his stomach. He feels like the best way to apologize for this again is the humour road. "You have great breasts."

She huffs, rolling her eyes as she sits back up, looking down at him, hands on his shoulders. "You know I thought you were grossed out, right?"

"By your breasts?"

"No, those are great," she answers, corners of her lips turned up a little, before her brows furrow together, "By me, in full form, you know…" Her voice trails off, shrugging a little. "It made sense at the time."

"Clarke, you're…" He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. He's not about to admit all the things he wants to say, because he might scare her off. Instead, he settles on, "You're beautiful. In any shape or form."

"You should see me hung-over," she jokes, but her voice shakes just a little. He grins, then pecks her on the lips, settling his hands on her hips.

"I thought you said you couldn't date regular people?"

She cocks an eyebrow, one hand trailing down, resting it over his heart, the other one playing with the curls in the back of his neck. "I thought you said you can do whatever the hell you want?"

He shrugs, figuring she's right about that one as he moves one hand up her side, under her shirt. He leans forward to kiss her again because it's been too long already, and she pulls back, putting a hand in front of his mouth, "What about Octavia?"

He leans forward to kiss her anyway, because her ability to let these things go is as big as his ability not to take care of others, and she lets him, losing herself in it for a moment until he pulls back, smirking innocently. "I'll send her a text she can come home in the morning."

"The morning, huh?" She grins, hand trailing down further south, resting on the hem of his shirt. She looks really pretty in the dim light of the TV, no make-up, hair a little wild, _kissed_.

"Yeah, I was thinking about turning in early today, hard working college student and all," he teases, coyly, "Need my eight hours."

"Mhm, sure," she agrees, serious look on her face, leaning on one knee as if she's about to get off him. "Sounds like a solid pl—" She laughs against his lips as he pulls her back, backing away to press a kiss to her cheek, temple and then nose.

"It was a bad joke," he admits, all too willingly, nuzzling her cheek. "Stay."

If she's bothered or taken aback by his affectionateness, it doesn't show. Instead, she just smiles, intertwining their fingers, voice surprisingly tender, echoing his words from earlier, "Of course."

.

He makes up with Octavia, settling with her on one week home-arrest and one month of doing the dishes and laundry, no complaining. Also, a text, once every eight hours. There's still a little re-adjusting, some grumpiness and a lot of rolling of the eyes, but they're okay.

How he knows they're okay?

"So, Bell, when she got like…" Octavia looks uncomfortable, but looks like curiosity beats out embarrassment as she puts down her fork. 'Turned on. She didn't shift?"

He almost chokes on his orange juice, managing to swallow it just in time, coughing just lightly. "What the fuck, O?" They're okay, but they're not _that_ okay.

"What? I was just wondering…" Her eyes widen, slightly, and she quickly puts a piece of pancake in her mouth, cheeks coloring slightly. "For science." At least, that's what he can make out, after years of Octavia combining food and taking, he's become quite good at it.

"You're making it worse," he yells, horrified as he grimaces. The last thing he needs to know, beside his sister's sex life, is details about his sister's sex life.

"God, fine," she chews, angrily, stabbing her fork into her pancake. "Don't expect me to try and start a conversation again any time soon."

"A conversation? About my sex life, you mean?" He clarifies, appalled, shaking his head. Sighing, he gives in, "No offense, but if she'd turned that would've been really weird."

She lightens up, straightening up in her chair, cheeky smile forming on her face. She's not rubbing her hands together like she has him right where she wants to, but he kinda feels like she should be. "Soooooo. How was it, good?"

"I'm all for a sex-positive household, but now you're going too far," he scowls, as he slaps her on the wrist gently, "Finish your pancakes, hobo." He shakes his head to himself. "God. _Who_ raised you?"

"So it was bad?" She bats her eyelashes at him innocently, filling her mouth with another piece of pancake. Nevermind half of it falls back out. He's tried before, that girl will never learn proper manners.

"Jesus, you're annoying," he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go back to Raven, will you."

"Fuck you," she laughs, flicking a blueberry his way, "Come on. I knew you were into her, and I suspected she was, but it can be different, you know." She shrugs, "Then you imagined. Beforehand, with all the expectations building up and stuff." Her gaze softens, small timid smile forming, as she looks at her plate, hair falling in her face. "I want you to be happy, and it would be okay, if it wasn't, _good_. I want you to know that I would leave. All of them."

She's saying that he doesn't have to pretend for her sake. That he could break up with Clarke, and for her, it wouldn't change anything because she'd choose him, anyway.

It's a surprisingly sweet thing for her to admit, especially since she doesn't like feelings and anything soft and not strong. Then she purses her lips, "Maybe not Wells, but definitely Clarke and Raven."

"It's good," he promises, smiling at her, fond, "I like her a lot."

Making homework and getting distracted thinking about her, texting her 24/7 even when he's just seen her, doing grocery shopping and buying her favorites, heart rate speeding up when someone mentions her, making his friends crazy talking about her so much, _a lot_ a lot _._

"But," he adds after a relieved sigh from her side, putting his hand back on her wrist, re-assuring, "it's not like what me and her have should influence your relationship with them, if we ever break it off, you should still be able to see them."

"Thank God," she groans, swallowing down another bite, "because I know I _said_ I could ditch Raven and Clarke, but I'd definitely have to sneak around and meet them in private. They know too much at this point, I'd have to murder them."

.

They're in the beach hut, Clarke on his lap on the seashell shaped couch, when Raven plops down next to them, casually chewing on a carrot stick. "So, Clarke is making me apologize."

He looks away from Clarke to give Raven his attention, just in time to catch the glare she's receiving from his grilfriend. The brunette rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Face stone-cold and voice toneless, " _I_ wanted to apologize. For being a dick. About the whole, staying out all night and not telling you ordeal. You were right. I was wrong. Please accept my humble apology."

He chuckles, putting one arm on the back of the couch, "What's in it for me?" Clarke's grip on his knee tightens, but she doesn't say anything.

"Retroactively, the sex we had," she retorts, not skipping a single beat. "That one is at least worth five more apologies, because I'm _great_ in bed."

He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. "It's not like _you_ didn't get anything out of it."

"Dude, your girlfriend is right there," Raven looks unimpressed, nodding over at Clarke like she wasn't specific enough, "In your lap."

"She's been here the entire time," he snorts, because that's so typical, "I was talking about Wells." He cocks an eyebrow, smiling a little too pleased and provokingly, "He told me you guys are _going steady_."

"Since when does Wells come to _you_ with his boy problems?" Clarke asks, appalled as she pulls back to take a good look at him. With everything they were talking about, _that_ gets her attention?

"Turns out we're taking some of the same classes this semester." He shrugs, half-heartedly. "Plus, I'm a dude. Not to be all sexist, but sometimes it's easier. You know, speaking the same language and all."

"You're saying your friendship is based on your dicks?" Raven concludes, unconcerned, looking more bored than anything.

"Yes," he agrees, just to humour her, and Clarke nuzzles her nose against his neck, shifting so her legs are resting on Raven. "I'm so fucking tired. School is stressing me out."

He hums in agreement, because exams are slowly murdering him.

"I can't help you with school, because I suck at art, but I can help you with the stress," he mentions, casually, hand trailing up the side of her thigh. She snickers, pushing his hand away as she turns her head to look at him, eyes crinkling from smiling. "Smooth."

"God, you two are disgusting," Raven cuts in, scowling, shoving Clarke's feet off her as she gets up. "Please shoot me if I ever look at Wells like that."

"You have a gun on hand?" He pretends to look around, Clarke's laugh vibrating against his chest.

"Fuck you, Blake," she bites back, flipping him the finger as she shoves away the table with her good leg and flips open the hatch. Before she jumps in, she adds, "You can choke, too, Griffin."

"So your bad behaviour reflects on me now, too?" She peeks at him through one eye, biting down on her bottom lip.

"Yep. We're a package deal from now," he validates, nonchalant, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing her arm.

"Does this mean you'll make the transition for me, you know, to keep it all equal?" She wonders, offhand, observing him quietly.

He shifts his head lightly, took look at her and see if she's being serious or not. She's not, luckily. "I enjoy my showers as they are, and I think one siren per relationship is more than enough. Best of both worlds, you know."

Objectively, his life is fine as it is. Being a siren would have it perks, but it definitely has it's downsides. Subjectively, would he jump off a bridge if she asked? Definitely. He trusts her. Always.

"You said siren," she points out, one corner of her mouth lifted up.

"Shut up," he responds, no heat as he leans his head back on the couch, closing his eyes.

"Bell?"

"Mhmm?"

"I love you." He peeks at her, to find her looking at him with a kind of unadulterated adoration in it that makes his chest feel tight and his throat dry.

He brushes some hair out of her eyes, running his thumb along the side of her face. He doesn't really have to think about it. "I love you, too."

"Good," she beams, pressing her mouth against the column of his neck. Tiredly, she adds, "Can we take a nap now?"

"Definitely," he complies, pulling her knees closer to him so she can get more comfortable. Once she settles with her head on his chest, she readjusts a few times before she sighs deeply.

"So, honestly. You _say_ you love me, but you wouldn't get a tail for me?"

.

 _i'm a stormy ocean, but you're steady_

 _and i'm a commotion, but you get me_

 _too many emotions, but you let me_

 _let me blossom in the dark_

 _turn the lights on, honey_

 _honey, i don't wanna hide_

.


End file.
